


Beast's Haven

by JazzyJazz98



Category: Animal Farm - George Orwell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Animalism, Aside from a few hiccups, But most likely fails, Eventual Romance, F/M, It's a minor thing tho, Napoleon and Squealer are up to no good as always, Snowball is a pretty cool dude, Tries to mimic the writing style of the original
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-07 08:05:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15904254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzyJazz98/pseuds/JazzyJazz98
Summary: Months have passed since the uprising on the Manor Farm. Fear of more animal rebellions have spread through the countryside, and with that fear comes violence and intimidation. None of the other farmers wish to suffer the same fate as Farmer Jones, and resort to using the whip, starving unruly animals, and other nasty forms of torture to keep their animals in line. The Golden Hills Farm is no different, until one fateful night, when one of the notoriously rebellious gilts is greeted by a visitor from the infamous Animal Farm... (AU)





	1. Chapter One

A blanket of sunlight had stretched across the English countryside that late summer morning. The farmhands of the Golden Hill Farm stumbled and grumbled their way across the courtyard, carrying the various foodstuffs that would serve as the animals’ breakfast. One farmhand in particular, a rather shabby-looking man who constantly grumbled complaints and swears under his breath, had a bucket of slop in each hand, and was headed towards the pigpen. Some of the porkers had already emerged from the stone building that acted as their sleeping quarters, and were snuffing at their troughs, searching for food. The farmhand grunted in annoyance.

“Oh, get back, y’stupid beasts…” he spat, aiming a kick at the fence. The porkers scattered, some running back into the building, while others gathered in a corner, their eyes darting about wildly. With a satisfied smirk, the farmhand proceeded to filling the troughs. The pigs, however, continued to keep their distance. Their hunger might’ve clouded their judgement before, but now they knew well enough to stay away until the farmhand had gone. They watched on, following the farmhand’s movements as he walked over to the corner of the pen opposite from the troughs. Another pig, a young Gloucestershire Old Spots gilt, was tied to the fence by her neck. For the entire time the farmhand had been at the pigpen, she had been sitting in her corner, watching him intensely. The human and pig met each other’s eyes, and in that instant, an aura of mutual hatred emitted from the both of them. 

“So,” the farmhand began slowly. “It’s been, what, a week since y’last been slopped? Must be hungry, eh?” 

The gilt remained silent. By this time, all of the farm’s pigs were watching from their side of the pen, not a single one of them going to eat from the troughs. After a moment’s silence, the farmhand snickered.

“Heh...looks like you’re startin’ to learn your place. I’ll slop ya today...if there’s any left for ya, that is.”

The cruel farmhand laughed again as the gilt narrowed her eyes at him. He then leaned over the fence, tipping over one of the pails to deliver the last of the slop. It was at that moment that the gilt suddenly sprang at him, squealing sharply. She, of course, couldn’t get far due to the rope, but the sudden action was enough to frighten the oppressive farmhand. The pail clattered against the dirt, and the gilt could see that barely a mouthful of slop still remained within it, not that she was surprised. 

“You little—!” the farmhand snapped, his face becoming a bright shade of red. He ranted for a moment, swearing and pointing at the gilt, but not quite managing to put together a complete sentence. Finally, he pulled out a whip that had been intertwined with his belt loops, and with a fierce yell, he attacked. 

_CRACK!_

_CRACK!_

_CRACK!_

The rest of the pigs could hardly watch, huddling against one another and wincing at each blow. The gilt, however, continued to sit and stare, only allowing small grunts and whimpers escape her maw. She wouldn’t squeal, not for someone as cruel as the farmhand. 

“Archie.”

The farmhand, Archie, froze at the sudden voice. He glanced over his shoulder, spotting a man nearby, a Border Collie waiting beside him. This man was the owner of the farm, Mr. Irons, and the collie was one of his sheep-herding dogs, Dodger. Archie grinned nervously.

“Ah, m-mornin’, sir!” he greeted. “Er...just finishin’ up with the pigs…!”

“Mmm,” grunted the old farmer. “None of them are giving you any trouble now, are they?”

“Oh, no, sir, not at all!” Archie tried to put on a reassuring smile. It failed to convince Mr. Irons. “This one’s just had a taste of the whip. She knows who’s charge, heh!”

“Well, that’s good. Let’s keep it that way. Dodger! Come!”

Archie watched in silence as his employer walked off, the Border Collie in tow. He then turned back to the gilt, his glare returning.

“Enjoy that slop, pig,” he seethed. “‘Cause that’s the last yer gettin’ for a long, long time.” And with that, Archie stormed off, grumbling and cursing all the way. A silence followed, the the hearts of all the pigs finally slowed down. The porkers began making their way to the troughs to eat, while the gilt leaned down, lapping up what little food she had been provided with. A young boar, a Yorkshire pig named Plato, trotted up to her with a sigh.

“I wish you’d stop antagonizing Archie, Joan,” he said. “You’ll end up starving one of these days, if he doesn’t snap and kill you first.” Joan, who had finished her incredibly small breakfast and had began licking the bruises now forming on her skin, turned to Plato and snorted.

“He’d never do that,” the gilt replied, an air of confidence in her voice. “Irons would fire him without a second thought.”

“Only because you’re supposed to be one of his breeding sows. If you were just a porker, it’d be a different story. These are dangerous times for us animals, Joan. You shouldn’t--”

“I know, I know,” Joan interrupted, rolling her eyes. “You don’t have to lecture me all the time, Plato.”

Plate sighed again, shaking his head, before reaching down and grasping the bucket’s handle in his maw. As he pulled the bucket away, Joan stared at him in confusion.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Getting you some more breakfast,” was the boar’s reply as he made his way to the troughs. Nudging the porkers aside, he pushed the bucket into the trough, and scooped up as much slop as he could. The porkers, of course, began to argue against this.

“Hey, Plato, this is our breakfast!” one of them snapped. “Joan had hers already!”

“Oh, hush…” grunted Plato. “Stop being so selfish. You lot can afford to eat a bit less anyway, unless you want your slaughtering to come sooner rather than later.” It was those words that had silenced the porkers, and begrudgingly, they allowed the Yorkshire to carry over the slop-filled bucket back to Joan. 

“You didn’t have to do that…” said the gilt quietly. 

“You’re my friend; you’d do the same for me. Now eat, before Archie comes back for his pail.”

The rest of the morning went by quietly for the pigs. Joan enjoyed her extra breakfast, her tail wagging a bit. How she had missed having a full stomach. But alas, such was the penalty for being a free-spirited animal these days. Ever since the Animal Rebellion on the Manor Farm (or Animal Farm, as it was now called) earlier that summer, England’s farmers had gotten more and more cruel, and the Golden Hill Farm was no exception. Sure, it was no paradise beforehand, but compared to how the animals were treated now, it might as well have been. Food was no longer a right, but a privilege given to animals that did their work and was obedient to the humans. The farmhands carried their whips more frequently, and would often attack the animals just to instill fear in their hearts. Truly, in trying to keep the animals from rebelling, they had become just as wicked as the infamous Mr. Jones. Unlike the creatures at Animal Farm, however, Golden Hill’s animals lacked the spirit to rebel...well, most of them, anyway. Joan was known by the animals and humans for her high energy and refusal to take orders. It had often gotten her into trouble in the past, but these days, with the humans fearing the idea of an animal revolution, the punishments had gotten more severe. Despite all of that, Joan’s spirit was never broken, and the other animals couldn’t help but admire her for it. It gave them a bit of hope that maybe, just maybe, things would get better.

 

The hours continued to melt together, until finally, night came. The farmhands had left for the day, and Mr. Irons was just finishing up his nightly rounds. He walked slowly between the stalls and pens, staring down any creature who caught his eye. Dodger was at his side, as usual, shooting apologetic glances at his comrades. He had no desire to see their fellow animals living in fear, but what could he do? Finally, Mr. Irons headed inside of his home, leaving Dodger to head towards the main barn to meet his mate, Mary, and his young puppies, who had been born during the spring. At the pigpen, most of the pigs had retreated inside, some already fast asleep. Joan, still tied to the fence, was lying on her side on the dirt, being careful not to roll onto any of her still-healing bruises. The air was quite chilly that night, however, so sleep was hard to come by for the gilt. For a while, she tossed and turned, snorting in discomfort. It wasn’t long before Joan gave up, sitting up and gazing, forlorn, at the rope keeping her tied to the fence. The thought passed her mind to gnaw through it; it’d take a an hour or so, but with her sharp tusks, she could manage to free herself. But even if she did, where would she go? Animal Farm was nearly an hour’s drive south, and walking would not only take much longer, but would be very dangerous due to oncoming vehicles or wild animals. Not to mention, Joan would be leaving the other animals to live on in misery, something she had no desire to do. The gilt sighed; was there anything she could do?

“Good evening,” said a voice, pulling Joan from her thoughts. With a surprised squeal, she looked up in the direction of the voice, and spotted a pigeon that was perched on the fence. It was a bit of an odd sight; usually, all the pigeons had retired inside of the main barn at this hour. Joan wasn’t one to stray from a conversation, however.

“Hello,” the gilt replied. “Can’t get to sleep as well?”

“You could say that,” replied the pigeon, taking a moment to pull a loose feather from her breast. “Actually, I’m a representative from Animal Farm, sent by one of our leaders, Snowball.” Joan’s eyes widened. 

“Really?” The gilt paused, looking around to see if the coast was clear. She then looked up at the pigeon again, her tail flicking in interest. “I think this might be something everyone needs to hear. Hold on; I’ll wake the others, and we’ll meet in the barn.” 

The pigeon nodded, and took off towards the barn, while Joan stared at the rope again. Her spirit had been reignited by the meeting of this representative, and with a low grunt, she bit down on the rope, chewing as hard as she could. The rope was dry and bitter, and Joan wanted so badly to just spit it out, but she knew she couldn’t. She pulled and tugged, thrashing her head back and forth. The fibers began to rip and tear, and by what could only be described as a miracle, the rope snapped. Joan was free. For a moment, the gilt couldn’t believe it, staring, wide-eyed, at the the two ends of the rope. She took a step forward, then another, and another...and to her joy, she wasn’t held back. Joan picked up her pace, the excitement continuing to swell within her, and she entered the pig’s shelter. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she took a moment to take in the sight of where she once slept. Joan then shook her head; now was not the time to be distracted. 

“Everyone,” she called in a sort-of whispery shout. “Wake up! Wake up!”

The pigs began to stir, mumbling incoherently as sleep still clung to them. Plato was one of the first to find his senses, and he looked over at Joan, his jaw falling in shock.

“Joan!” he gasped. “You’re free…!?” The other pigs were also stunned, eying the limply-swinging rope dangling from Joan’s neck. Joan couldn’t help but stand a bit taller in pride. 

“That’s right,” replied Joan with a whisk of her tail. “But there’s no time to talk about that. We need to get out of her and gather up the other animals. A representative from Animal Farm’s come here.”

Immediately, the pigs began to whisper to each other, some sharing in Joan’s excitement, while others expressed their concerns. Those eager to meet the pigeon began following Joan outside. The gilt in question had begun digging away at the dirt under the fence, and one by one, the others began to join her, until there was just enough space for the pigs to squeeze out. Plato was among those pigs who had followed Joan, but rather than feeling joy or anticipation, he shared in the worry of the of the other pigs. 

“Joan,” he called, trotting towards the fence. “We shouldn’t do this. We’ll all be punished if we even think of following in Animal Farm’s footsteps.”

“We’ll be punished no matter what we do,” Joan argued. “We’ve been tortured for too long, Plato. It’s time for action!”

“Joan…” Plato murmured, but the gilt had already made off for the other stalls. The boar watched the other pigs as they followed the Gloucestershire, pacing left to right apprehensively. He was torn; sure, it would be wonderful to be free from their human oppressors, but...at what cost? So many things could go wrong...Animals could die...Plato watched on for a few moments, before finally stamping his trotter and snorting. 

“You’d better be right about this, Joan…”


	2. Chapter Two

Plato finally escaped from the pigpen, trotting towards the main barn. His eyes darted left and right, making out the forms of the other animals. He entered the farm, spotting Joan and the pigs gathering before a stack of hay bales. A pigeon was perched on top of it, the representative, Plato figured. Golden Hill's own flock of pigeons were resting in the rafters, glancing down at the events going on below them. In a corner, resting on a bed of straw, was Mary, the mother Border Collie. Her four-month-old puppies were playing with each other, nipping at each other's ears and tails. Occasionally, Mary would call them, "Come away, little ones!", before they could wander into the path of some larger beast. Dodger meanwhile was pacing and muttering to himself, and though Plato couldn't exactly make out his words, the occasional glances the he-dog would make at Joan put two and two together in his mind. Plato stepped out of the way of the barn door, watching the animals flooding in.

The first to arrive after him was the sheep flock, led by their bellwether ram, a Scottish Blackface named Balthasar. He was an interesting creature, being perhaps the only sheep on the farm to have a bit more character to him than grazing and bleating for hours on end (though, as the bellwether, perhaps it was the be expected). He was considered to be closer to the horses in terms of intelligence, nothing too spectacular, but it made it easier to respect him as an individual. The sheep settled behind the pigs and were soon joined by the cows and goats, gathering together to share body heat. The carthorses were next, one approaching middle age, while the other being about four and a half years old. The eldest, Gale, was the father of the younger mare, Poppy. Poppy's mother was one of Animal Farm's horses, Clover. Mr. Irons had paid a great deal of money to breed the mare with his stallion, and once Poppy had reached a year old, she was taken from her mother's side. Poppy never forgot her mother, however, and hearing that someone from Animal Farm had come to speak to them got her excited.

"Should I ask about Mother?" asked the young mare to her father. Gale chuckled softly in response.

"I don't see why not," he replied. "It'd be nice to hear about her again."

"Maybe we'll get to go and visit her once we're free…" A dreamy look had come to Poppy's eyes. "I hope she still remembers me…"

"Well, why wouldn't she? You're her daughter! Don't you worry, love."

Gale gave his daughter a playful bump with his thigh, before they both took their place behind the rest of the hooved animals. Finally, came the chickens, ducks, and geese, the chickens fluttering up to higher perches, and the ducks and geese nestling down in the straw. It seemed that every animal had arrived, and the time to listen to the representative had come. Plato took another glance towards the farmhouse, and seeing the darkened windows, decided that it was safe enough to sit down and heed the pigeon's words.

"Comrades," the pigeon chirped. "It was months ago, during the spring, that I, and my comrades in Animal Farm, were told of a future where animals lived in freedom, where we were no longer threatened by the gun and the whip, and we provided ourselves with an abundance of food. Many believed we would never see such a future, and yet, earlier this summer, we chased away the humans that have oppressed us for so many years. And what's more, we've continued to operate the farm far better than the humans have!" The pigeon paused as the animals below her murmured in curiosity and excitement.

"Really?" Poppy gasped in awe. "Running the farm all on your own? But...how do you manage to work the plows without a human? Or milk cows? You'd need hands to do all that...right?"

"It all sounds too good to be true…" growled Dodger.

"That was what many of us thought at first, Comrade," the pigeon continued. "But with the intelligence of our pigs, who have learned to read and write in the months before our rebellion, we have managed to make do without humans." The exclamations of amazement continued. None of the humans had ever mentioned Animal Farm's estudious pigs, and hearing that their species had been the cause of so much good on Animal Farm caused a bit of pride to swell within Joan and the porkers surrounding her. Once things began to quiet down, The pigeon carried on.

"Listen comrades...the two leading pigs of Animal Farm, Snowball and Napoleon, have sent pigeons like myself all throughout the county, telling every animal to join us in our rebellion. I have seen how cruelly you've all been treated, especially you, Joan." Joan sat up a bit, and she could feel the other creatures gazing at her and the bruises on her body. "There's no denying it, comrades...you deserve to be free from this. You must rebel!"

"But we'll be beaten if we even think of acting out," a cow looed in alarm.

"Or killed!" bleated most of the sheep. "Killed! Killed! Killed!"

The thought of death caused a wave of uneasiness to wash over the animals, and they began to cause a bit of an uproar in their fear. Plato, his eyes widening, glanced out at the farmhouse. The lights were still off, but if the noise continued…

"Shhh!" he shushed everyone loudly. "Everyone, settle down!" Fortunately, Plato's words were enough to bring the noise down a bit. The pigeon cooed softly, attempting the bring the attention back to her.

"I understand your fear, comrades. Death and pain is a very real risk for partaking in a rebellion...but I believe the benefits far outweigh the drawbacks. Together, you are strong, and with hope and courage, you can take on whatever Man throws at you. Here...allow me to sing you the song of the rebellion. I hope it will come to inspire you as it had come to inspire the members of Animal Farm." The pigeon fell silent for only a second, before clearing her throat and singing, "Beasts of England":

"Beasts of England, Beasts of Ireland,  
Beasts of every land and clime,  
Hearken to my joyful tidings  
Of the Golden future time.

Soon or late the day is coming,  
Tyrant Man shall be o'erthrown,  
And the fruitful fields of England  
Shall be trod by beasts alone.

Rings shall vanish from our noses,  
And the harness from our back,  
Bit and spur shall rust forever,  
Cruel whips no more shall crack.

Riches more than mind can picture,  
Wheat and barley, oats and hay,  
Clover, beans, and mangel-wurzels  
Shall be ours upon that day.

Bright will shine the fields of England,  
Purer shall its waters be,  
Sweeter yet shall blow its breezes  
On the day that sets us free.

For that day we all must labour,  
Though we die before it break;  
Cows and horses, geese and turkeys,  
All must toil for freedom's sake.

Beasts of England, Beasts of Ireland,  
Beasts of every land and clime,  
Hearken well, and spread my tidings  
Of the Golden future time."

The pigeon repeated the song a few times, allowing the rest of the animals to memorize to lyrics and tune to the best of his or her ability. Joan was the first to begin singing along, and slowly, the others began to follow. Those who could not quite grasp all of the words were content to simply hum along. Even the puppies, who were still quite unsure as to what was going on, join in, singing whatever words they had managed to pick up. Plato watched, not having begun to sing just yet. Fear still clung to his heart, not just at the fear of being punished, but also at the growing noise. He looked outside again, and felt his blood run cold. One of the farmhouse windows was illuminated.

"Oh no…" Plato whispered, his body beginning to quiver. He stood up, rushing into the center of the barn, crying out as loudly as he could: "Farmer Irons is awake! He can hear us!"

The singing came to a sharp halt, and panic instantly swept over the animals. The courage had been slowly building within some of their hearts had vanished, and they began scrambling to their feet in an attempt to return to their sleeping-spots and avoid punishment. Joan, however, saw this as their golden opportunity, and called out to her friends as loudly as she could.

"Comrades!" shouted Joan. "Don't forget what the pigeon said! Together, we're strong! Let Irons come! We'll take our vengeance for all he's done to us!" The Gloucestershire's words seemed to get to the other animals, and they slowed to a halt, although some continued to shuffle about, nostrils flared or feathers ruffled. They all looked to Plato, who in turn peered outside. The farmhouse door was open, and Mr. Irons was walking towards the barn, a whip in hand. Plato gritted his teeth, his shaking becoming more and more violent. Joan quickly trotted to his side, glaring out at their oppressor. A silence followed, broken only by Irons' approaching footsteps. Soon, stood at the barn door, his silhouette stretching over the animals before him. Plato took a step back, but Joan continued to stare up at him, her trotters stamping at the ground. Mr. Irons looked around, his eyes narrowing.

"What are you all doing out of your stalls?" he asked slowly. He raised his arm, and brought it down, the whip letting out a thunderous _CRACK!_ Most of the animals flinched, and backed further away. "You're all gathered here...singing that song as if it isn't the product of a sick and twisted lot of animals. And here I thought you were all smarter than that. No matter; you'll all be punished for this. I will instruct the farmhands to hold off on feeding you for the rest of the week, and once every day, we'll drag you out onto the courtyard, one by one, and give each animal a good beating. Maybe that'll teach you not to conspire against your masters." Some of the animals had urinated themselves in fear, if they hadn't simply fainted first. Mr. Irons looked down at Joan, who continued to bare her tusks at him. "And _you_...I've finally lost my patience with you. If you're not going to behave like a proper pig, then it's the chopping block for you!"

The animals gasped in terror; even Joan seemed caught off-guard for a moment. Farmer Irons bent down, attempting to grasp the rope still wrapped around the gilt's neck. It was then that Joan broke out of her shock, seeing Mr. Irons' hand getting closer and closer. With a mighty squeal, Joan suddenly lashed out and sank her teeth into Mr. Irons' hand. A stunned silence fell upon the animals as the farmer screamed in agony, dropping the whip in his other hand. Seeing that he had lost his instrument of torture, coupled with Joan's brave attack, the other animals began to to regain their lost courage. They recalled the cruelty and abuse of the past season, and together, they began to step toward Mr. Irons. No longer was fear controlling them. Mr. Irons, momentarily forgetting his pain, looked around, seeing that he no longer had a grip on his animals.

"No…" he said in a sickening realization. "No! You foolish animals! Don't even think off-!" The rest of Mr. Irons' sentence was drowned out by the bellows and cries of the animals as they charged in a body. Finally managing to wrestle his hand free, Mr. Irons turned on his heel and rushed back towards the farmhouse. The animals chased after him, teeth gnashing and horns attempting to butt and gorge. The ducks, geese, and hens pecked at his ankles, and the pigeons at his head. Even the representative pigeon joined in on the attack. Once Mr. Irons reached the farmhouse, he shut himself in, bolting the door shut.

"The coward!" Joan roared, throwing herself at the door, to no avail. "He tortures us to no end, and when the time comes to pay for him, he runs and hides!? Comrades, break down this door! We'll drag him out and dispose of him once and for all!" With cries of agreement, the Gale and Poppy came forward, and kicked at their door with their feathered hooves.

"For justice!" whinnied Gale. "Justice and freedom!"

"Hold on!" Balthasar called out. "Look there! Mr. Irons is in the window! He's got his gun!"

The animals looked up, and as the ram had said, Mr. Irons was there, his gun raised and aimed at the animals below.

"We'll be killed!" bleated the rest of the sheep once again. "Killed! Killed! Killed!"

"Animals!" Plato yelled. "Fall back!"

"No!" Joan argued, looking back at the Yorkshire with a fiery spark in her eyes. "We're nearly in, Plato!"

Plato was about to reply, when the gun fired, the echoing explosion sending the animals into a frenzy. A goat had been caught between the ribs, the bullet going into his heart and killing him instantly. He crumbled to the ground, and the rest of the animals turned tail and fled. Not even Joan could ignore the fear of the gun. The animals regrouped back inside the barn, shaken up and grief-stricken by the loss of a comrade.

"That damned coward," Joan seethed, her eyes brimming with tears. "I swear…the moment we get into the farmhouse, I'll tear out his throat myself!"

"Joan," Plato began, trying his best to keep calm despite the circumstances. "We cannot afford to be rash. Rebellion or no, I refuse to let anyone else die needlessly. Freedom is worth nothing to a dead animal."

"What do you suppose we do, Plato?" someone asked. The Yorkshire was quiet for a moment, tabbing his trotter furiously against the straw.

"The pigeons," Plato finally replied. "We'll send them out to distract Mr. Irons; he won't be able to use his gun then. Gale, you'll go out next; you should be strong enough to break down the rest of the door. After that—"

"I'll rush him and take him out!" Joan interrupted, to wish the rest of the animals cried out in excitement. Plato shook his head.

"Try to chase him out of the house instead, Joan," said the boar. "Or, at the very least, grab his gun."

"But he deserves to die!"

"Freedom is our top priority, Joan, not being a martyr."

"I shall fly alongside the other pigeons," the representative spoke up, perching with the rest of the flock. Her interjection seemed to temporarily break up the tension between the two disagreeing pigs.

"You don't have to do that," said Plato. "You've already performed your duty. This rebellion is our responsibility."

"I'll never forsake my fellow animal," the representative argued. "For your freedom, comrade, I'll gladly lay down my life." Plato reluctantly nodded, internally hoping that no one else would die before the night's end. The plan was then put into action, with the pigeons flying out of the barn and towards Mr. Irons' open bedroom window. Mr. Irons, who had been looking out for any signs of an approaching animal, cried out in alarm, and pulled up his gun to shoot into the approaching flock. The gun fired, and most of the birds were able to scatter just in in time, though one unlucky pigeon fell lifeless on the hard cobblestone below. Gathering together again, the pigeons flew onward, swarming the man before he could prepare another shot. Mr. Irons flailed his arms wildly, dropping the gun on the floor. It fired again, though no one seemed to have noticed. Outside, Plato was watching the bedroom window, and seeing that Mr. Irons had disappeared from view, he called for Gale to act. As ordered, Gale galloped towards the farmhouse, and kicked at the door with his hind legs. It only took two good kicks before the door broke from its hinges, clattering against the floor. Joan raced out of the barn then, screaming at the top of her lungs:

"DEATH TO IRONS!"

The rest of the animals followed, some of them stopping along the way to gather the bodies of the fallen pigeon and goat. Joan entered the house, looking around. She had never been inside the farmhouse before, and on any other day, she'd take a moment to look around. Seeing as there were other matters at hand, Joan carried on, finding the stairs and following the sounds of Mr. Irons' screams until she had reached the bedroom. She charged blindly, forgetting what Plato had told her before, and bitting into Irons' leg. Mr. Irons staggered back towards the open window, and with a gasp, found himself beginning to fall over.

"Joan!" a pigeon called. "He's going to fall! Back away!" Joan ignored the pigeon, however, wanting to see Mr. Irons' death with her own eyes. It was then, however, she felt a tug at her neck; someone had grasped the rope around her neck. She let go of Mr. Irons leg, and watched, maw agape, as he fell back with a bloodcurdling scream. It lasted for a few seconds, before being cut off by a low and heavy-sounding thud. The pigeons settled down on the windowsill, and Joan turned to see what animal had stopped her. It was Plato, who had the end of the rope gripped tightly with his teeth.

"Plato…" Joan began quietly. Plato spat the rope out a let out a somewhat mirthless laugh.

"Had to make sure you didn't end up falling out with him."

"Heh...thank you. I...I suppose it was a good thing Archie kept me tied up, eh? Though...I'd like to take it off now, if you don't mind."

Plato nodded, and slipped the rope off of Joan's neck, tossing it aside. Joan shook her head, sighing in relief. Freedom, at last… Joan's joy was short-lived, however, when she saw the look of sadness of Plato's face. Following his eyes, she spotted another lifeless pigeon. It wasn't just any pigeon, either; by some stroke of misfortune, it had been the representative who had fallen into the line of fire when the gun went off. Joan's heart sank with remorse, and tears began to stream down her cheek. Plato gave her a comforting nudge.

"We'll bury her," he promised. "And the others who fell."

"We wouldn't be here right now had it not been for her…" Joan murmured.

"I know, Joan, I know…"

Joan had been the one to carry the representative out of the house, where the other animals had gathered. They stood around Mr. Irons' body, sniffing and pawing at him.

"What'll we do with him?" asked somebody.

"Destroy his body," Joan seethed. "Set it ablaze, toss it into the well, I don't care."

"No," said Plato, shaking his head. "He might have been our enemy, but we should grant him a proper burial. Let Man's actions remind us, comrades, to never lose our senses of honor." With those words said, it was agreed that Mr. Irons would be buried, even Joan agreed, albeit reluctantly. The animals carried the dead to the highest point in the pasture and had the funeral there.

"I hadn't even gotten to know your name," said Joan in the representative's memory. "But you were just as much my comrade as anyone else I know. Rest in peace, my friend."


	3. Chapter Three

The sky was covered in a layer of silvery-gray clouds that morning. The cockeral’s cry was heavy and forlorn, reflecting the mood of the rest of the animals. A small shower had started up about an hour earlier, forcing the animals to spend their first day of freedom inside. At the pig pen, most of the pigs were inside, not bothering to take advantage of the cool mud produced by the rain. Instead, they crowded at the entrance of their shelter, gazing out at Joan, who, despite being free to sleep inside with them, was lying in her corner outside. Some of the porkers had whispered that she had been crying, not that they blamed her. Plato pushed his way past the other pigs, making his way out into the rain and mud. He trotted up to Joan, nudging her with a hoof.

“Joan,” he began. The gilt turned her head, staring up at the Yorkshire with cold, empty eyes. 

“What do you want?” Joan asked. “Just leave me alone.”

“I just wanted to see if you were alright,” replied Plato, sitting down beside her. “I know you’re upset, and so am I...we all are. But...I think they’d all want us to be happy, for their sakes. Irons is gone; we can be free now.”

“We’re not free yet,” Joan shot back fiercely. “The farmhands are coming soon.”

“They’ll be easy to chase off. Together, we’re strong, remember? Isn’t that what you said? What she said?” There was a moment of silence, before Plato continued. “Look, Joan. That representative might’ve inspired you, but you were the one to inspire us. I never thought I’d be organizing a plan to raid the farmhouse, but look what happened. That was because of you, Joan. You’ve always been a beacon of hope for us, even before this whole rebellion thing. Sure, you’re a bit, erm, overzealous sometimes, but I think I speak for every animal when I say that we’d forever be lost and afraid without you.”

Joan expression grew more thoughtful as Plato spoke, and eventually, she allowed a smile to appear on her face. She sat up, blinking away the rest of her tears.

“Hmm,” she murmured. “I suppose someone’s got to fight the humans while you sit around giving speeches.” The two pigs shared a laugh, and coincidentally, the rain came to a stop. Plato stood up, shaking droplets of water from his skin.

“Well...we’d better get ready for the farmhands,” he said.

For the next few minutes, Plato and Joan gathered the animals together in the middle of the courtyard. Aside from a few complaints about the bad weather, the animals assembled quickly and quietly. The only animals who were absent were Mary and her puppies, who were, naturally, exempt from any fighting. As Plato paced in front of his comrades, he reminded them of their final task. Despite the farmhands’ larger numbers, Plato explained, they only had whips at their disposal, rather guns or some other lethal weapon.

“But whips hurt,” said someone.

“I know, comrade,” Plato replied. “But you mustn’t fear the whip. Remember your bravery from last night, and the bravery of your comrades. Use the pain of that whip to fuel your desire for freedom! But remember, comrades: only use as much force as you need. Our goal is the drive the humans off, not to kill. In fighting Man, we must not become as cruel as he is.”

Nearly all of the animals cried out in agreement, the only silent creature being, of course, Joan. Plato watched her carefully. He could see that the desire for vengeance still lingered in her eyes. He turned to her.

“Joan,” he began. The other animals turned to look at the gilt. Joan stared at Plato, silent but radiating an air of defiance. “Joan, can you agree to fight in the name of liberation rather than retaliation?”

“After all that they did to me?” Joan shot back with a snort. “Why should I?”

“That’s a good question,” Plato responded. “One I cannot give a straight answer to. Joan, I understand completely why you wish to kill them. The tortures you’ve lived through far surpasses anything the rest of us have suffered. Don’t think I don’t wish to see the humans pay for their crimes as well. But what I want more than revenge are comrades I can enjoy freedom with. The last thing I want to see is someone getting struck down in an attempt to fight. Is it wrong to wish for the safety of my friends, Joan?” The Gloucestershire was silent, her gaze falling to the side as she absorbed the boar’s words. Plato was also quiet for a moment, before letting out a small chuckle.

“Look at me...trying to tell you what to do, what to think...You’re free to act as you see fit, Joan. Take my words as just a bit of perspective.” Plato began backing away, but paused with Joan let out a sharp:

“Wait.”

Joan looked up at Plato. The boar couldn’t quite make out the emotion in her eyes. The rest of the animals continued to watch in interest.

“I’ll...consider what you said,” the gilt finally said, causing Plato to smile in relief.

“I appreciate it, Joan.” 

 

The next thirty minutes or so consisted of the animals waiting in the courtyard. The rain had finally come to a stop, but a layer of fog had gathered in its place. The farmhands wouldn’t be able to see the animals waiting for them, but the same could be said for the animals in regards of the farmhands. The pigeons took to the air, scouting the land for any signs of humans. Their patience was soon rewarded when, one by one, the farmhands entered the farm gates. Half of the pigeons flew back to the courtyard.

“They’re coming!” they twittered frantically. “They’ve just come through the gate!”

“Forward, comrades!” Plato cried as the animals tore across the courtyard. The pigeons guided them down the steep, rocky trail that led to the farm’s entrance. Their voices mingled together in a mighty roar, one that stopped the farmhands in their tracks.

“What the bloody hell…?” one of them began. The farmhands watched in growing terror as the animals’ shadows appeared in the fog, a large amalgamation of heads, bodies and limbs. Joan was the first to emerge from the fog, and with her jaws parted, she attacked the first man to come in her sights. The rest of the animals followed, and a battle ensued. The farmlands fought back as best they could, lashing at the animals with their whips, but the animals no longer felt fear. The farmhand Joan had attacked fell over onto his back, and with a yelp, he threw up his arms in an attempt to avoid having his face bitten. Joan had been prepared to gore into the man’s arms with her tusks, when she was suddenly kicked in the side. She flew off the harmhand, squealing in surprise and pain, and landed roughly on her side. She scrambled to her trotters and looked to see who had kicked her, and to both her disgust and pleasure, she saw that it was Archie. 

“You damned pig,” Archie seethed. “You’re dead.” Joan glared at her former torturer, the past season of cruelty running through her mind. She wanted to kill him, she wanted to see him suffer…Now was her change for payback.

“Die!” Joan roared, charging at Archie. Archie stood his ground, but Joan wasn’t deterred. Archie aimed a kick at her, which only caused the gilt to smirk. He really thought she was some dumb animal. At the last possible second, Joan darted to the side, narrowly missing the kick. Once she was behind Archie, she lunged for him, and before he could even realize what going on, Joan had sank her tusks into his the back of his thigh. Archie let out a horrific scream, thrashing his leg about to try and shake Joan off. It did nothing but make Joan bite down harder and harder, blood running down the man’s leg. The sickeningly sweet satisfaction of watching Archie suffer was beginning to cloud Joan’s judgement. She pulled her head back, forcing Archie to lose his balance and fall over. It was only then that Joan let go. She had a better idea of where to bite. Archie, meanwhile, was crawling away, dragging his injured leg behind him. Joan charged once more, rounding Archie’s body again and aiming for his throat…

THWACK!

Joan cried out shrilly, staggering back and shaking her throbbing head. Archie had hit her with a rock he found on the ground. A bleeding gash had formed on Joan’s right temple. Taking advantage of the situation, Archie crawled up to Joan and bashed her head with the rock again, and again, and again. The blows were quick and excruciating; Joan couldn’t pull herself out of the way. With a soft moan, Joan slipped away into unconsciousness and collapsed. With a crooked smile, Archie raised the rock once more to snuff out Joan’s life, when the air was pierced by a sharp whiny.

“Don’t touch her!” Poppy shouted, her feathery hoof landing hard on Archie’s back. The farmhand was pinned with a surprised gasped, and looked around. The other men were retreating now, some of the animals chasing them off through the farm gate. Even the man Archie had saved from Joan found his life more valuable. Archie soon found himself alone as the animals surrounded him. The animals looked at Joan and then at Archie, rage burning in their eyes. Poppy then placed her hoof on Archie’s head.

“How dare you!” the mare snapped. “How dare you hurt her! I’ll crush you, you horrible man!”

“No, Poppy,” bleated Balthasar. “Remember what Plato said. We shouldn’t kill out of petty revenge like humans do.”

“It’s not about revenge,” growled Dodger, the fur on his spine standing on end. “It’s about justice! The bastard murdered Joan!”

Immediately, the animals began to argue over what should’ve been done with Archie. A majority called for his execution, while the minority,made up mostly by Balthasar and his herd, called for his banishment from the farm. Gale tapped his hoof against the ground, gaining everyone’s attention. 

“That’s enough,” his voice boomed, trying to sound as authoritative as he could. He turned to his daughter, his gaze turning soft. “Listen, love...don’t do something you might end up regretting…” 

“But…” Poppy began tearing up. “He...He killed…”

“No…” said Gale, shaking his head. “We’ve all jumped to conclusions. Look at Joan; she’s still breathing. She’s alive.” The animals looked, and saw that Gale spoke the truth. It seemed to quell their anger just a bit. Gale turned to Plato. “Plato...what do you think we should do?”

Plato had been silent the entire time, standing over Joan’s body protectively, and staring at Archie with cold, unfeeling eyes. He never looked away, not even when Gale had called him. He didn’t respond to the question at first, but, instead, slowly walked up to Archie, who had been quivering under the animals’ withering gazes, and shoved his snout into his face.

“You listen to me, Archie,” he began in a low whisper. “If I, or any of my comrades, so much as smell you or your kind on this farm after today, there will not be any mercy, I guarantee you.” Of course, Archie couldn’t understand Plato’s snorts and squeals, but with his mind being clouded by anger, Plato hardly cared. The boar turned, walking back to Joan, muttering, “Drag him out of here. He’s harmless against us now.”

Some of the animals continued to murmur their desire to kill Archie, but they did nothing to argue against Plato, who very clearly wanted no more to do with the situation. Most of the animals began to head back towards the barns, Balthasar and his sheep taking the task of removing Archie from the premises. Poppy distanced herself from the others, walking far behind them with her head lowered. Gale looked back at her, his ears falling back. He began to wonder...was all of this really worth it? The humans were finally gone and yet...there was no happiness to be found. Where was the utopia the pigeon representative had promised? Gale just couldn’t be sure. What he did know what that Plato was right. The animals needed to remain righteous and good. If they adopted man’s violent nature, not only would they in danger of becoming more human, but they would also in danger of destroying themselves.


	4. Chapter Four

Joan came to later that afternoon. She had been placed in the big barn to recover from her injuries, Mary and Plato taking the responsibility of watching over her as she slept. The rambunctious puppies had been led away by their father to play outside, where the fog had finally been replaced with some sunlight. As the gilt tried rolling over onto her belly, Mary rested a paw on her side.

“Ah, ah, my dear,” said Mary with a gentle voice. “You mustn’t move about just yet.”

“Mmmph,” Joan groaned in annoyance, although she hadn’t yet the strength to disobey. She fell back onto her side, her floppy ears providing excellent shade from the light pouring in through the barn’s windows. “How long was I out…?”

“Just a few hours,” replied the border collie. “You’re lucky to have survived! Archie certainly did a number on you!”

“Tsk...the bastard…” Joan grunted. “He just caught me off-guard, is all…”

“You were going to kill him,” Plato spoke up, a sort-of scolding tone in his voice. Joan scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“Please…” she began. “Spare me your lectures. What happened to “take my words as just a bit of perspective”?”

“You were almost killed because you went after Archie,” said Plato firmly. “He was trying to flee, but you continued to pursue him.”

“And so what if I was?” Joan lifted her head, glowering at the Yorkshire boar. “It’s my right as a free animal!”

“Oh, silly me,” Plato said, his voice laced with sarcasm. “I suppose next time we should all just stand by and watch you have your brains bashed in. It’s your right as a free animal, after all.”

“Listen here, you big-headed, self-righteous git--!”

“Dears, dears!” Mary stood up and stepped inbetween the quarreling pigs. “That is quite enough! What are you doing fighting each other? We’re meant to be working together now. What sort of example would you be setting for the others if they saw you acting as unruly as Man?”

Neither pig could respond, looking away from the bitch as they began to feel shame. An uncomfortable silence fell over the barn. The other animals had looked up from their resting and chatting, looking over at the three in curiosity. Plato pawed at the straw for a moment, before turning and trotting out of the barn, muttering:

“Forgive me…”

“Hmph…” Joan finally murmured, lying her head back down, though, admittedly, her anger was cooled a bit due to Mary’s lecture. The collie bitch turned to the gilt, shaking her head.

“Joan…” she began.

“I’m sorry,” Joan interrupted. “Alright? He’s just...Well...you know how he is! Always talking with big, fancy words and acting all sophisticated...It drives me mad!”

“I understand that,” replied Mary, sitting beside the Gloucestershire. “But you must remember, dear, that it’s in his nature to act that way, just as it’s in your nature to be free-spirited. Now, don’t think I’m taking sides, but...you terrified everyone this morning, Joan, Plato, perhaps, most of all. I understand that it was your right to go after Archie, but...just because you can do something...that doesn’t necessarily mean you should do it.” Mary paused, seeing Joan’s brow furrowing. “Joan, I...I understand...Archie’s done so much to you, more than any of us have suffered...But you have to understand that your actions can lead to consequences. Just...try to think more before you act next time, not just for yourself, but for the others, as well. No one wants to lose you, you know?”

Joan remained quiet, but Mary could tell by the look on her face that she was thinking about what she had said. Mary watched the gilt for a moments, before standing up again.

“I’ll go and fetch your morning rations,” said Mary. “A good bit of food should help the with the healing process.”

“Thank you…” 

 

While the two females had been talking, Plato had trotted away from the farm buildings, and towards the pasture. He climbed up the to the highest point, being especially careful not to trod on the graves. As the boar gazed over the pasture, he noticed how beautiful the day had become. One could almost forget that there had been a rainstorm and fog just that morning. The sheep herd was just a ways away, Balthasar, of course, in the lead. However, the ram seemed to be behaving rather strangely. Every couple of minutes, he would begin walking away from the herd, his pace slow, almost, prowling-like. Then, his bell would ring, catching the attention of the herd and sending them rushing after them. This repeated a few times, before Balthasar finally spotted Plato, and trotted up the hill towards him. The rest of the sheep were in hot pursuit. 

“Oh, Lord…” Plato murmured. Still, the Yorkshire decided to be polite, and walked down to meet the ram. “Ah, Balthasar. Afternoon. Is everything alright?”

“Not really, no,” Balthasar replied, having to raise his voice over the bleating of the other sheep. “Er...you see...now that we’re free, I had wanted to try and spend some time on my own. But this blasted bell always bringing the herd after me. Don’t get me wrong, I love my herd, but...well…”

“Oh, yes...I understand.”

“So, I was hoping that, maybe, you could…?”

“Say no more. I would be happy to.”

Balthasar lowered his head, allowing Plato to properly get his teeth on Balthasar’s collar. It took some effort, but in a few minutes, Plato had managed to unstrap the collar, and it slipped off of Balthasar’s neck onto the ground. Balthasar let out a satisfied sigh, shaking his head.

“Oh, that feels so much better…” bleated the ram. “Thank you so much, Plato!”

“Of course, my friend,” replied the boar with a smile. He nudged the collar with his trotter. “I shall dispose of this for you. It’s made of leather. You know...cow skin.” Balthasar recoiled in disgust.

“Humans really are dreadful, aren’t they?”

“It would appear so, yes. Everything bad that happens to us stems from them, after all.”

“And yet...you always insist they be spared when we fight them,” Balthasar pointed out. “Not that I’m doubting your judgement or anything...it’s just really strange when I think about it. Not that thinking’s really a sheep’s strong suit, heh…”

“I just don’t want to see any more bloodshed,” said Plato grimly. “Humans are dangerous, especially when they can get their hands on a weapon. What they lack in strength or some biological asset, like horns or fangs, they make up for with tools that can kill with ease. That is why I only want animals on the battlefield for the shortest time possible, drive the humans away, and return to safety. And…” Plato had began pacing as he spoke, and when he paused, he felt his breathing turn funny, and his eyes began to burn with tears. “And...I know it seems like I’m telling everyone what to do, but...I just feel like if I don’t, someone’s going to get themselves hurt. I...I don’t want this place to become a graveyard, Balthasar. I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

“I understand, Plato,” Balthasar said. “I may not be speaking for the others, but I appreciate what you’re doing. You’re providing us with some logic; that’s what I think, anyway.”

“Thank you, Balthasar. And...thank you for this morning. For speaking on my behalf. I admit...I think I had forgotten my own ideals for a moment. I was just as excited as some other animals to see Poppy crush Archie’s head.”

“Ah, don’t mention it, Plato. And it’s alright...anger clouds even the calmest of minds, I suppose.”

“Hmm…” Plato turned back to the ram, smiling just slightly. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, old boy. You’re quite clever.” If Balthasar had been given the ability to blush, he would have at that very moment. Plato paused again, before speaking once more.

“I think I shall call the animals together tonight in the barn,” he began. “Now that the humans are gone...it’s time we create this society as Animal Farm created theirs. Could you and your herd spread the word when you get the chance?”

“But, of course, Plato,” replied the ram, who turned and began to walk down the hill. “Until tonight, hmm?”

“That’s right. Thank you, Balthasar!” 

 

As Plato had asked, Balthasar and his herd had spread the news of the Yorkshire’s desire to meet. The day slowly bled into night, and as the stars began to appear in the sky, most of the animals gathered into the farm. Poppy had remained in her stall, lying down with her head on her straw bedding. Her father was about to leave his stall next door, when he paused, and gazed through the iron bars that kept him from craning his head into the stalls to his left or right. 

“You won’t join us, love?” Gale asked in concern.

“No,” replied Poppy, her voice rough. 

“Why not?” 

“Too tired…”

“This meeting could do you some good, you know? I have a feeling we’ll be meeting for happier matters. And since we’re free, perhaps you could finally get around to planning that trip to Animal Farm. You could see finally see your mother again…”

“Mother…” Poppy slowly stood up, glancing over at the stallion. “Do you think she would have…”

“Killed a human?”

Poppy winced at the reminder of what she had almost done in her moment of madness. She looked away, her eyes closing tightly. 

“I...I just felt so angry at him…” Poppy whinnied bitterly. 

“I know, love,” replied Gale. “I...I’m not sure of Clover would’ve done such a thing. Perhaps if someone she knew was in grave danger...she always did have that motherly air about her.”

“But no one was in danger...Archie was all alone and wounded, and yet…” The mare shook her head. 

“It’s alright, love…”

“It’s not alright! What would Mother think if she’d known I was going to become a cold-blooded killer? No better than a human!?” Gale didn’t respond for a moment. It really was a difficult situation with no definite right or wrong answer. Still, Gale wouldn’t let his daughter suffer. She was a good animal, and he knew it. 

“I think…” Gale began slowly. “I think she would see that you had lost your senses for a moment, you and the other animals. But that fact that you show remorse now shows who you truly are. Besides...you’re still young. You still have much to learn. Fortunately we have Plato, Joan and the others to help us remember who we are, to give us...oh, what the word...perspective?” The elder carthorse paused, allowing Poppy the chance to respond. The mare remained silent, and Gale sighed. He finally pushed open his stall door with his nose and began to trot out. “Remember, love...you’re always welcome to join us.”

“Hmm…” Poppy murmured, though she said nothing more. 

Gale left the horse stalls, trotting towards the main barn, where he could hear the hum of conversation. He stepped inside, seeing the animals settled before the hay bales on which Plato was sitting. He looked for Joan, and spotted her in Mary and Dodger’s little corner of the barn. She had finally been allowed to sit up, and was watching the puppies play and run around her in amusement. Gale smiled at the sight, before looking up at Plato. He was looking down at Joan, an unreadable expression on his face. Gale had heard gossip from some of the other animals that there had been a fight between the two pigs. He wondered if things had been patched up between them, though if he had to guess, he would have to say no. The stallion decided to take a seat, trodding carefully in the straw as not to trample the geese or ducks. He settled down in the back of the barn and began to wait in silence. A few minutes passed after that, Plato keeping an eye on the barn door to see if any other animal was going to come in. After about ten minutes, Plato decided to begin. He very loudly cleared his throat, catching the animals’ attention and causing them to shush each other. The barn fell silent in a matter of seconds.

“Thank you,” said Plato. “Now, comrades, tonight marks our first night of true freedom. All humans that once lived or worked on this farm have gone, and we can now tend to our own affairs. Now, I understand that we have gotten off to a rough start...from losing comrades to butting heads with them.” Joan could feel eyes stare into her at that statement. “But...I believe we can move past that. No matter what happens, no matter how much we fight...we are still comrades at heart. We care about each other, we respect each other...that is what will make this society work, comrades. I propose that we begin by lifting our spirits.”

Plato paused, clearing his throat again. He then then began singing “Beasts of England”. The other animals listened carefully, at first not quite feeling that sense of excitement they had felt when the pigeon had sang it to them before. But then, Joan began to sing, followed by the puppies, who were entirely sure what they were singing exactly, but nevertheless, wanted to join it. Mary and Dodger joined in after that, and soon, the other animals followed. They started off rather halfheartedly at first, but as they got through each verse and recalled their victories of the past 24 hours, they began to feel something swelling in their chests. They realized, all over again, that they were free, that they would no longer be hurt by Man. Finally, a tremendous uproar came from the barn, and this time, no human was going to interfere. 

In the horse stalls, Poppy could hear the commotion, her ears swiveling in the direction of the barn. Even in her state, she, too, was beginning to feel hope, that she was doing the right thing, not just for her own good, but the good of her comrades, as well. She remained in her stall for the remainder of the night, but hummed along to herself, her tail whisking to the melody.

The animals sang “Beasts of England” about five or six times, and by them, they had become high off of the euphoric energy the song had given them. Plato began to speak again. He reminded the animals of Animal Farm and what it stood for, according to the rumors. The animals there worked to provide for themselves. No longer was their milk or eggs stolen, but rather went into the creation of the next generation of free animals. There was also a system of education, and every animal had learned to read and write in some capacity. No animal killed another, not even for food. This point had caused some uneasiness in Dodger. Dogs were carnivores, unlike the majority of the farm. What were they meant to eat? Mary had pointed out then that there was a supply of dog biscuits and kibble. Some questioned this, as kibble was supposedly made of meat, while others argued that it wouldn’t be fair to starve to dogs, as they couldn’t help being born carnivores. Eventually, the majority came to agree that the dogs could eat the kibble, and once it ran out, an alternative would be figured out.

“Shall we rename Golden Hills to Animal Farm as well?” asked a goat. 

“Hmm…” Plato pondered. “It wouldn’t be very unique of us. We might be following Animal Farm’s influence, but we can afford to have some individuality. If we are going to rename the Golden Hills Farm, we need something to represent us and what we stand for. Our farm is going to be a sanctuary for all animals, a haven for all beasts.” Plato then paused, his eyes widening. “Wait...that’s it...Animals! I propose that the farm now be called...Beast’s Haven.”

The barn was silent as the animals thought over the new name. It buzzed around in their minds, some of them even testing it out on their tongues. Before long, the animals began to cry out in approval, chanting the name over and over again. After some time, Plato lifted his trotter, and the animals began to quiet down.

“Alright, comrades,” Plato continued. “Is there anything else anyone feels the need to discuss?”

“Might we become allies with Animal Farm?” Gale questioned.

“Well, I don’t see why not,” responded Plato. “Besides, perhaps it would be good for us to learn how to read and write. I’m not entirely sure what use it’ll be, but it never hurts to be prepared. I request that the pigeons fly to Animal Farm in the morning and offer our alliance, perhaps even tutoring, if they’d be so kind. Does the farm agree to this?” The animals approved, and the deed would be done. The meeting came to an end shortly after that, and the animals began to head off for the night. Plato watched as the barn slowly became empty, apart from the family of dogs and Joan. The Yorkshire stepped down from the hay bales, slowly passing by Joan and the dogs. The gilt followed his movements with her eyes, and Mary did the same to Joan.

“Perhaps you should make amends with him,” Mary suggested, before herding away the puppies in order to lay them down for bed. Joan continued to watch him as he stepped out of the barn. She suddenly got to her feet, trotting after him. She stepped outside, the cool air being an almost welcome change to the warmth of the barn.

“Oi,” the gilt called out, catching Plato’s attention. The boar turned to her, his eyes widened in surprise.

“Joan…?” he said.

“No, I’m her twin sister, Janice,” Joan scoffed. 

“I...just wasn’t expecting you to talk to me,” Plato admitted. “Not after…”

“Mmm...well, about that…” Joan paced about, finding it hard to look the boar in the eye. “Mary had a talk with me after you left the barn. Gave me a bit of...perspective. Heh...ain’t that the word of the day...Anyway, I realized that...I wasn’t exactly being fair to you. I admit, I act without thinking most of the time, and not only end up hurting myself, but…” Joan finally managed to turn her gaze towards the boar. “You lot, as well…”

“Joan…” said Plato softly. “I have...been unfair to you, myself. No matter how I feel, I should never try to control you, or anyone else on this farm. Everyone has the right to act as he or she chooses, and I have to accept that.”

“But…” Joan added. “Perhaps we should act with common sense every once in a while, yeah?” The two pigs shared a laugh.

“You’re looking better, by the way,” Plato commented. “The swelling on your head’s gone down a bit. It was almost as big as mine before.” Joan laughed, much louder this time. The pigs began to to walk, side by side, towards the pigpen, joking with each other all the way. It seemed that things were finally beginning to come around at Beast’s Haven.


End file.
